


Five Years

by intotheruins



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dean/Cas Big Bang Challenge 2016, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff, M/M, Mute Castiel, Sam & Castiel Friendship, Supportive Sam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-21
Updated: 2016-10-21
Packaged: 2018-08-17 12:52:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8144714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/intotheruins/pseuds/intotheruins
Summary: Diverges from canon after 11x20. After Chuck defeats Amara and takes Lucifer back to Heaven, Castiel stops talking.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this just after 11x20 aired, so it doesn't line up with the season 11 ending. 
> 
> Thank you very much to my beta [karmascars](http://archiveofourown.org/users/karmascars/pseuds/karmascars)! <3
> 
> The awesome art is by kuwlshadow! You can reblog it [HERE](http://kuwlshadow.tumblr.com/post/152103664558/title-five-years-author-intotheruins-artist)

It was over.

Dean was still stunned, still couldn’t quite believe that Amara was gone. Some small part of him, the part that had been unwillingly drawn to her, ached in an almost distant kind of way. The rest of him was just relieved, right down to his core.

Chuck had whisked them off without warning into the middle of the woods in who knew where. Dean wasn’t sure why at first. He and Lucifer took care of Amara, fighting side by side with a hopeful kind of caution. Like maybe they could trust each other, but both were still fighting even the possibility of it. They didn’t kill her, _couldn’t_ kill her, but Chuck assured them that the problem was resolved.

And then he’d left, taking a reluctantly willing Lucifer with him. Just ditched them there in what Dean could only hope was still their own country. He guessed he got it—Amara wasn’t exactly a problem that could wait—but it still pissed him off. Made him wonder why the hell Chuck had bothered to bring them.

Until Castiel turned to face him, eyes wide and shocked and full of the angel Dean knew so well.

Maybe Chuck didn’t have the time (or the resources while holding Amara) to zap them back home, but at least he’d brought them along to take care of Cas.

Castiel was silent as Dean rushed to him, hands going to the angel’s shoulders and yanking him into a hug. Cas looped his arms loosely around Dean’s waist but otherwise didn’t react. No smile, no head tilt, not even the, “Hello, Dean,” that the hunter could admit (if only to himself) he’d been desperate to hear.

Sam charged in for a hug after Dean stepped back. He got the same treatment—arms around his waist, no verbal acknowledgment. As Dean watched, Castiel’s eyes went from wide confusion to an eerie blank. By the time Sam stepped back, the angel appeared almost completely vacant.

The brothers exchanged glances. Sam just shook his head with a shrug.

There was no knowing which direction would get them out of there, so Dean picked one at random. He and Sam each took a shoulder and led Castiel, who seemed too inside his own mind to walk on his own. He stumbled frequently, but whether it was from exhaustion or because he was just that withdrawn, Dean couldn’t tell.

The Impala was waiting for them roughly a mile away. She was parked in the exact center of an old dirt road and pointed in what Dean hoped was the right direction.

“Guess it was all he had time for,” Sam said, nodding toward her.

Dean wasn’t sure. But it wasn’t a concern right now, not with Cas in this state.

He got the angel safely tucked into the back seat. Then just hung his head, arms braced against the roof. What if Lucifer had done irreparable damage? Had he tormented Cas while he was in there? The questions kept coming and Dean shook his head, scowling down at the ground like he could banish his darker thoughts beneath it.

Sam coughed. “We should probably get him out of here,” he said quietly.

Dean nodded. With a deep breath, he shoved himself upright..

Castiel rocked slightly when Dean slammed his door. There was awareness in the angel’s eyes, but it was soft and distant. Dean reached over the seat to curl a hand around Castiel’s shoulder, heartened slightly when Castiel sighed and leaned into the touch.

“We're gonna take you home, buddy,” Dean said softly.

No response. Castiel just leaned into Dean's hand until it was taken away. Then he slumped against the window and closed his eyes.

“Asshole could have at least told us where we were,” Dean muttered as he pulled out onto the dirt road.

Sam nodded. He kept an eye out as they eventually spilled out onto a highway.

After a while, he said, “We're in Montana. That sign said 60 miles to Missoula.”

“Great,” Dean sighed. “We're not making it home tonight.”

~

They were all too tired to push through the state, so Dean got them a motel in Billings. It had two beds and a pull-out couch, and was surprisingly clean and well-kept for the price. Castiel still wasn't really walking on his own, so Dean helped him to the couch and got him settled. He found the remote and pressed it into Castiel's hand—after a moment Cas turned it on and began surfing channels. A tiny, tired smile slowly curled into the corners of his lips, and Dean breathed a sigh of relief. It wasn’t much, but any comfort Dean could provide right now was good.

“You want anything?” Dean asked quietly. He was terrified to raise his voice. It was ridiculous, he _knew_ Cas wasn't going to break. He was too damn tough for that. He'd survived every soul in Purgatory tearing through him, fought off Naomi's brainwashing—fuck, he'd just lived through the Devil wearing him like a goddamn party hat and come out whole, if more exhausted than Dean had ever seen him.

Castiel didn't answer. He stopped on a Loony Toons episode, smile widening just a bit.

Dean squeezed his shoulder and left him alone.

He needed sleep badly, but Dean was only able to grab a few fitful hours. His dreams were full of haunted blue eyes and the wrong pitch of Lucifer’s voice speaking from Castiel’s lips. He ended up sitting on the edge of his bed at 5am listening to Sam's deep, even breaths and staring at the dark lump on the couch.

Castiel was curled in on himself, head resting in an open palm. He still had a firm grip on the remote, using it almost like a security blanket.

Dean stood up. He tiptoed over the carpet and knelt down beside his friend, aching to touch but afraid he might wake him. Wondering what it meant that he was sleeping at all.

Castiel's tie was gone, his shirt torn open down to his stomach. His trench coat was torn in several places. Dean hadn't noticed before, hadn't been able to see anything beyond Lucifer's grace leaving his body, beyond _Castiel_ staring out of familiar blue eyes.

Carefully, Dean reached out and touched the very tips of his fingers to the back of Castiel’s hand. The angel shuffled closer in his sleep, murmuring something so low that Dean couldn't hear it.

It took everything in Dean to get back up and return to his bed, hand curled into a protective fist around the tingling where his fingers had made contact with Castiel’s skin.

~

Though he was still silent the next morning, Castiel got up on his own. Dean watched with growing worry as he went into the bathroom. Needing to take a piss wasn't exactly giving him confidence that Cas's grace had survived the invasion of Lucifer.

“Hey.” Sam clapped a hand down on Dean's shoulder, giving it a firm squeeze. “Give him a while. I remember what it was like. He promises you things and you kinda start believing him, and then it's just... It's like everything you are starts to slip away, there's just fear and...” Sam shuddered, ducked his head to hide behind his hair. “I dunno, might be different for angels. They're not as attached to their bodies.”

“Cas is,” Dean said quietly. “He's been in it long enough.”

He flinched when the shower came on.

“We should get him some clothes,” he said.

“Yeah.” Sam let go and waved his hand towards Dean's duffel. “Yours'll fit him better.”

Sam picked up his own bag and went to pack it in the car. Dean wound up sitting in the middle of the bed with his own, staring at his clothes as though they were alien to him. What did Cas like? Dean had only seen him in anything but his usual get-up twice, once at the bunker and once when he was working in the Gas-N-Sip. He'd worn jeans, Dean remembered that. He pulled out an older pair that were a little tight on him now and had a hole in one knee. They weren't in the best of shape, but they'd be more comfortable than his newer pairs.

“Shirt, shirt,” Dean muttered. He tossed plain black and green and a few blue t-shirts aside until he found the few at the bottom of the bag, the shirts he never wore anymore because they were nearly worn too thin, but he couldn't bring himself to get rid of them. One Metallica, one AC/DC, and one soft grey t-shirt with a darker grey dove on the front. Sam bought that one for him on his sixteenth birthday. It didn't exactly fit with the rest of his clothes, but Dean had always really liked it. Maybe for no other reason than Sam gave it to him.

Slowly, Dean dragged out the shirt. It was soft with age. No holes in it yet, and the dove was still clearly visible. It fit him when he was a gangly teen, but he bet it would be pretty tight across his shoulders now. Probably his belly, too.

Cas was pretty skinny, though.

Dean set it on the jeans. He dug out some black socks and a pair of clean boxers, tossing them into the pile before taking it all to the door. He knocked, but when he didn't get an answer he eased it open.

The shower was still running. The curtain was cloudy but thin, giving Dean just the hint of Castiel's shape behind it. Not enough to really see anything, but he still made himself look away as he set the clothes on the counter.

“Got you a new outfit,” Dean called over the water. “For now, anyway. We can get you whatever you want later.”

The curtain shifted to one side. Castiel's wet head popped around it. He looked at the clothes through the water streaming down from his hair, and then looked at Dean and nodded.

The smile he offered was small, almost entirely in his eyes, but it gave Dean hope anyway.

Sam had coffee waiting on the table when Dean left the bathroom. Dean snatched it up gratefully, chugging it down in a few swallows and ignoring the way it scorched his tongue and throat. Sam sipped his more carefully, though he made no comment as Dean crushed the styrofoam cup and tossed it into the trash.

“Cas okay in there?” Sam asked.

Dean nodded. He pulled out a chair and sat down, then immediately stood up and began to pace.

“Are _you_ okay?”

“He won't talk,” Dean blurted. “He won't talk and he's showering and _sleeping,_ Sam. Something's wrong.”

Sam tipped forward like he was going to stand. He stopped halfway through and sat back, running a hand over his face and sighing. There was exhaustion in his eyes, too much in the last few days, too close to Lucifer and suddenly Dean felt like utter shit for ignoring that.

“Hey.” Dean sat down again. “You okay? I know that was... you shouldn't have had to work with Lucifer.”

Sam smiled tightly. “Yeah, I'm okay. I'm more worried about Cas right now.”

“You worry about you,” Dean insisted. “I'll worry about Cas.”

The bathroom door clicked open. Dean turned. Castiel was spilling out with a cloud of steam, hair still damp, soft t-shirt just right on his slim form. Dean felt a flush of warmth at the sight of his clothes on the angel and quickly looked away.

“Feel better?” he asked the arm of the chair.

Castiel snorted. The sound surprised Dean so much he jerked back.

“Dean,” Sam whispered. When Dean glanced at him, Sam mouthed, “ _Give him time.”_

Dean sighed, but he nodded.

“You hungry, Cas?” Sam asked. “Want some coffee?”

The angel crossed the room slowly, not acknowledging either question. He stopped in front of Dean. The stare was so familiar, so relieving, that Dean didn't flinch when Cas brought a hand up and brushed fingertips over his cheek. His eyes widened, confusion and a question, but he didn't try to draw away as Castiel sighed, fingers resting briefly on Dean's lips before he turned away and sank down on the end of Dean's bed.

Slowly, Dean turned to Sam and mouthed, “ _What the hell?”_

Sam shrugged, but there was a tug at the corners of his lips that suggested a smile.

“I'm gonna get you some coffee,” Sam said to Cas.

The angel looked up, then nodded once.

When Sam was gone, Castiel looked at Dean and held out his hand.

“You want the remote?” Dean guessed. When Castiel nodded, Dean glanced around until he found it on the floor by the couch. He brought it to him... and then sank to his knees, flinging the remote on the bed and grabbing Cas's hand with both his own.

If the wide gaze was anything to go by, this was as much a surprise to Castiel as it was to Dean himself.

“What did I do?” Dean whispered hoarsely. “What the fuck did I do that made you think that... that you were... You're not _expendable,_ okay? You're as important to this family as Sam is!”

Castiel's fingers curled inward, pressing hard into Dean's skin. He tugged—Dean looked up to see Castiel's eyes were still wide, but softer now, sad.

“You _matter,”_ Dean said fiercely. He surged to his feet and pulled Castiel into a hug, didn't care that it meant the angel's face was smashed against his chest because all he could feel was Castiel's hands curling into his shirt. He listened to the quiet, hitched sound of a single sob, had to close his eyes to hold back one of his own.

They had separated by the time Sam came back with coffee, though Dean now sat beside Cas, shoulder pressed against the angel's. Castiel managed something close to a full smile when he took the cup from Sam's hand. Sam grinned back and clapped a hand to his shoulder before gesturing to the TV.

“What are we watching?”

Castiel looked down at the remote Dean had placed in his hand after the impromptu hug. He tapped the power button and began to surf channels, smile lingering when he stopped on the Animal Planet.

“Otters, apparently,” Dean said after a moment.

Sam sat down on Castiel's opposite side. It was a close fit, the three of them too big to have any space between them, but Dean thought maybe Castiel needed that right now.

“Otters are good,” Sam said. He popped another coffee from its carrier and reached over Castiel's lap to hand it to Dean. “I had this weird obsession with otters when I was a kid. Remember that, Dean?”

Dean chuckled and nodded. “Yeah. Specifically river otters, wasn't it? You had pictures of them all over your notebooks.”

Castiel turned to look at Sam. His brow scrunched up, like he was holding in a laugh, or some detailed piece of information he kept in that massive brain of his.

“Don't judge me,” Sam muttered, and finally, _finally,_ Castiel gave a real smile.

He still didn't speak, not through the entire episode or the routine of packing, not for the rest of the day as the miles ticked by and they got steadily closer to Lebanon. To home.

He did eat. When they stopped at a White Castle, Castiel got out of the back seat and followed Dean inside. Dean got two of the burgers the angel pointed to, along with the biggest fries and drink they had. He watched Castiel put a little of every single soda option into his cup with a baffled half-smile while he filled his and Sam's cups with cherry Coke.

“That looks gross,” Dean chuckled when Castiel took a sip of his soda-experiment.

Castiel shrugged. He held out the cup, straw titled towards Dean. Slowly, uncertain but unwilling to see the calm expression slip from Castiel's face, Dean took a sip.

It actually wasn't half bad.

“You're still a freak,” Dean said fondly.

Castiel smiled and rubbed a thumb over Dean's bottom lip. He didn't flinch this time, but he did raise an eyebrow until Castiel sighed and let his hand fall.

It was late when they got back to the bunker. Sam stumbled straight to his room, fell face down on his bed without removing so much as his boots and didn't budge. Dean tossed a blanket over him and left him like that, too tired himself to bother trying to help any further.

“Your room is still made up,” Dean told Castiel around a yawn as they walked down the hall. “Or not made up, your bed is a mess.”

Their rooms were side by side, so Dean paused outside Castiel's, leaning on the doorframe as another yawn cracked his jaw wide open. He rubbed a hand over his eyes and offered an exhausted smile, one that Castiel didn't return. His head was tilted in that oh-so-familiar way, but the narrow-eyed scrutiny was something... older. More the Castiel Dean had met in that barn before he even knew angels existed, and less the...

He hesitated to think _human_ . Castiel was certainly more compassionate, more understanding, less _violent_ than he used to be. The whole mortal experience had been good for him, but Dean was constantly having to remind himself that Cas wasn't strictly human. Maybe a little, or maybe a better angel -- fuck, Dean was too tired to think this through.

Castiel's hand was on his chest. Dean blinked. It was pressed right over his heart, hard enough to nearly push him back.

“Cas?” Dean lifted one hand slowly, hesitated for just a second before he laid it over the one on his chest.

Castiel's eyes snapped to his. Still narrow and dark... and so exhausted that it made Dean ache. Was he hurting? Had Lucifer done more damage than they could see? Fuck, was he not talking because he _couldn't_ anymore?

Castiel shoved. Dean stumbled back a few steps, coming to a stop right in front of his own door, eyes wide. Castiel followed—steps slow and deliberate, he lifted a hand to once again tap his fingertips to Dean's lips.

“What are you doing?” Dean murmured. Castiel's fingers were rough and tasted of sweat.

The angel crowded in close, pressing more firmly. There wasn't much difference in their heights—Dean had maybe an inch on him—but just then he felt smaller, felt as though he were shrinking beneath the intensity of the gaze zeroing in on his lips as Castiel's hand slipped slowly back down to his chest.

“Cas?” Dean whispered.

Castiel's hand curled into a fist in his t-shirt. His eyes lifted back to Dean's gaze, widening just a bit, enough to soften his expression.

Pleading. He was pleading for something, and Dean was pretty sure he knew what it was.

Dean sucked in a breath, prepared to say... something, fuck. Anything.

Castiel hissed, a strange, animalistic sound shoved out through his teeth. He pushed Dean away and whirled, door slamming a second later.

Dean stared at the barrier between himself and his angel for so long that he nearly passed out in the hallway.

~

Castiel didn't emerge from his room the next morning. Or if he did, he was sneaky about it. There was a mug missing, and some crumbs scattered over by the toaster. Dean stared at them for a ridiculous number of minutes, wondering if he should make Cas a real breakfast. If he did, would the angel eat it?

He poured himself some coffee. Dumped in a little more sugar than usual and stared at the crumbs some more.

Sam emerged an hour later, hair mussed and eyes still half closed. He pawed at the coffee machine until he'd managed to pour a cup, drank it black while he woke up enough to wince at the taste. He walked past Dean to get the cream... and then froze, eyes widening when he saw the stack of pancakes piled high next to the stove.

“You feeding us, or an army?” Sam grabbed the cream, peering at the pancakes. “Jesus, how many different kinds did you make?”

“Four,” Dean answered, flipping the latest one. With nothing but the pan. Because he was awesome. “Plain, blueberry, banana, and chocolate chip. The chocolate ones are for you, you enormous child.”

“Despite that hideous slight, _you_ are the best brother ever.” Sam slapped him on the back as he passed. “I bet Cas would like the blueberry or the banana ones.”

Dean poked at one with his spatula. “Yeah. He definitely has a sweet tooth. Except when it comes to coffee, he doesn't even put sugar in it.”

He slid the last pancake on the plate and started scrambling eggs, adding a bit more grease from the bacon he'd made first. Sam sank down into a chair at the table, watching him over his mug.

“He talk at all after I passed out?” Sam asked.

Dean shook his head. “No, he just... Nope.”

Sam nodded. “I dunno if we can apply human psychology to an angel, but not talking is pretty common after severe trauma. He's been human, so... I don't know. Could be the same kind of thing.”

Dean added four pancakes—two blueberry and two banana—some eggs, and four pieces of bacon to a plate. He set it aside for the moment, made Sam a plate with two pancakes and a more moderate serving of eggs and bacon and brought it to him.

“You gonna eat?” Sam took the fork Dean handed him, smiling gratefully.

“Yeah. In a bit.”

He took the plate, grabbed a fork and some syrup. When he reached Castiel's door, he found it open just a crack. Enough to make him hope it was an invitation, and not just an accident.

“Cas?” Dean knocked once on the doorframe. “I have food.”

There was no answer, but the door swung open a second later. It was dark inside, only the muted glow of the TV offering any kind of light.

Dean held everything up, smiling in what he hoped was an encouraging manner. “Seems like you've been pretty hungry since all that went down.”

Castiel nodded. He stepped back with a sweep of his arm, so Dean came inside and set it all down on the bedside table beneath the lamp. There was a movie playing on the TV, volume so low that Dean could barely hear it. He didn't recognize it, but he watched for a moment as Bruce Willis stepped out of a spinning cop car in slow motion.

Huh. Whatever this was, it looked awesome.

When he turned back, Castiel was sitting on the side of the bed with the plate in his lap. One bite had been taken out of the banana pancake and then both had been shoved aside, but the blueberry was almost gone.

Dean chuckled. Cas had used very little syrup, so Dean rolled up both pancakes and took a bite out of them. “'s more b'l'brry,” he mumbled thickly.

Castiel nodded. He finished the pancakes and drizzled more syrup on his eggs. Then he stopped suddenly, set down his fork and reached up to pat Dean's chest, right over his heart.

“You're welcome,” Dean said with a shrug.

Cas smiled.

Dean shifted on his feet as Castiel went back to his eggs. He glanced at the TV once. Grabbed the only chair in the room and pulled it close to the bed. Stayed silent until Castiel had finished his breakfast and set the plate aside.

“Hey.”

Castiel looked at him. Dean put a hand on his knee and squeezed.

“Can you... Are you not talking because you can't, or because you just don't want to? It's okay if you don't want to, I just... wanna know if you're okay.”

Castiel sighed. He took Dean's hand between both of his and began tugging on his fingers, like he thought he could pop them off to inspect them more closely. His eyes wandered to what he was doing, attention drifting in a way that was so unusual for him that it made Dean want to punch him, or shake him until that fire Castiel never lost sparked up and urged him to punch Dean right back.

Castiel let go with one hand to tap his own mouth. He mimed talking with his hand and nodded.

“You can talk?” Dean asked. Castiel nodded. “Okay, good. That's good. And you're not hurt, right? I mean… Are you falling?”

The angel sighed. He patted his chest and smiled thinly, then circled his head with one finger and frowned.

“Uhh... so physically you're okay?” Dean guessed. Castiel nodded. Lifted his hand and let it fall, but suddenly stopped short. “You kinda fell?” Dean waited until Castiel nodded a second time. “So you’re not… It’s not like last time, right? You’re not dying?” Castiel shook his head. “Okay, good. That’s good. But... Sorry, I don't get the second part.”

Another sigh. Castiel patted his heart instead, and frowned hard.

“I don't... oh, uh, emotionally?” Castiel nodded, offering a small but genuine smile this time. “Yeah, okay. I mean, you had the Devil all up in you, so yeah. That makes sense.”

Castiel stared at him. He nodded, and then wriggled his hand in a way that Dean understood as “so-so.” “That's only part of the problem?”

Another nod.

Hesitantly, Dean lifted a hand and pointed at himself. He was expecting the nod, but it still made his stomach drop into his feet.

“So I did do something,” Dean murmured.

Castiel rolled his eyes and threw both hands in the air.

Anger slammed Dean in the gut, too hard and too fast— he found himself on his feet over the angel, fists clenched.

“If you have a problem then _say something!”_ he yelled. “I can't just... Cas, you gotta _tell me_ if I'm fucking up!”

Castiel was on his feet so quickly that Dean barely had time to register the movement before he was slammed into the wall. It threw him back to the Apocalypse, to the dark alley and Castiel's betrayed snarl right in his face. Dean froze.

And in that moment, Castiel kissed him.

The angel kissed like a punch, so much force and teeth and energy behind it that Dean hesitated to even call it a kiss.

He registered heat, and chapped lips, and Castiel's tongue slicking over his bottom lip.

Then he was being pushed out of the room, more gently but with insistence, and the door was closing on Castiel's hung head.

Twenty minutes later, Sam asked if he was okay.

Dean muttered, “Yeah,” and numbly poured himself some coffee.

~

For three days, Castiel remained silent. He barely even came out of his room, and when he did he avoided Dean's gaze. More than once Dean's fingers twitched, desperate to reach out, but he held himself back.

_Be patient,_ Sam had said. Fine. He could try, at least.

This proved to be difficult when the brothers took him out to get new clothes. Every look Castiel gave him when he held up a shirt for approval, every touch to his hand when the angel wanted his attention, it made Dean itch under his skin. He caught himself almost following Castiel into the dressing room at one point, just so he could demand answers.

He wound up holding jeans and sweaters and one truly horrible, lemon yellow Minion t-shirt instead, scowling at the clothing like it was somehow responsible for everything. Maybe it was—that Minion t-shirt had to be evil. No way Cas picked it by accident; if Dean burned it, maybe everything would go back to normal.

He snorted at himself, and didn’t bother explaining when Sam gave him a questioning look. He really didn’t need to share his crazy.

On the fourth day, Sam found signs of a haunting in Elk River. He offered to pass it to another hunter, but it was so mundane after everything with Amara and Chuck that Dean said no, they could handle it. Besides, it would be nice to ease back into normal jobs, to get behind the Impala's wheel and know they were headed to a nice, simple salt and burn.

Castiel was in the car when Dean went to toss his duffel in the trunk. It was only a five hour drive, but Sam was geeking out over some hiking trail, and Dean was so glad to see Sam happy that he agreed to stay a couple days without much of a fight. Cas was doing better, but Dean wasn’t sure if it was a good idea for him to leave the bunker for that long yet, no matter how simple the hunt seemed.

There was a small black duffel in the trunk. Dean stared at it, almost opened the zipper just to see what Castiel had packed. Instead, he threw his own down next to it and yelled to Sam to hurry up.

Sliding into the driver's seat, Dean twisted around to check on the angel. His hands were folded in his lap, his head bowed, though he lifted it when he felt Dean's eyes on him.

“It's an easy hunt, but...” Dean frowned. “You sure... Y’know, you can stay home. If you want. If you're still tired.”

Castiel scowled and turned to stare out the window.

Dean sighed. “Cas.”

Castiel crossed his arms. Dean almost laughed because it kinda reminded him of one of Claire's defense mechanisms, and he couldn't help but wonder if Cas had picked it up from her.

Sam came running out a moment later, tossing his bag into the trunk one-handed without looking up from his phone. Absently, he slammed the trunk—which got him yelled at, though he didn't seem to be paying attention. He muttered “Yeah, yeah,” as he slid into the passenger side, gaze still firmly on whatever information was on his screen.

“Ghost info?” Dean asked as he pulled out of the garage.

“Mm... Huh? Oh, no, trail info. Dean, this place is really amazing. You should come with me.”

“Yeah, no thanks.”

Sam chuckled and shook his head. “Cas? You wanna go?”

He twisted to look at the angel. Castiel was still staring out the window, but when Sam continued to watch him he slowly turned and lifted his hand, wriggling it in what seemed to usually mean “so-so” or “maybe.”

“Cool,” Sam said with a grin, like Castiel had given him an outright yes.

The drive was quiet. Dean tried to turn the radio on at one point, but the look Castiel gave him in the rear-view mirror was so stormy that he turned it right back off. Great. Sam had glared at him more than once over his music and it never stopped Dean from cranking it even higher, but one look from the angel was all that was needed to shut him down?

Free hand clenching around the wheel, Dean reached for the radio again. Castiel kicked the back of his seat.

“Did you just...” The road was empty, so Dean glanced up in the mirror. Castiel's eyes were narrow, arms still folded over his chest. “Come on, the silence is killing me.”

“He doesn't like your music,” Sam said absently. He was still on his damn phone. “It wouldn't hurt you to play something other than classic rock. Just once.”

“Driver picks the music,” Dean mumbled. But he didn't reach for the radio a third time.

It didn't matter that Sam didn't like his music. Hell, it was a bonus, getting to annoy his little brother like that. But Cas... Dean shook his head, scowled at the road. There was no reason for Castiel to like it, either. He was being ridiculous.

It was just after 2pm when they arrived in Elk River. Dean pulled into the first non-chain motel he saw—a quaint little hole called The Motor Lodge—and after unloading they all went across the street to grab lunch. Castiel pointed to what he wanted on the menu. The waitress didn't seem fazed by his silence.

Castiel's tastes were odd, like a mixture of Sam’s and Dean’s. He'd ordered skinless chicken, but instead of getting veggies with it like Sam always did, he got fries with a side of ranch. Dean watched him dip three fries at once, practically drowning them before he finally took a bite. Two drops landed on his chin. Dean reached over to swipe them away without thought, only realizing how damn cliche the move was after he'd withdrawn his hand.

The angel stared at him a moment, gaze narrowing. Dean stared back. He lifted his thumb and licked the ranch from it, never breaking eye contact. Challenging.

For just a second, Dean thought Castiel might actually answer the challenge. His eyes widened, he leaned towards Dean abruptly—and one of his hands caught the edge of his plate as he braced himself, flipping half-eaten chicken and fries across the table to spill down into his lap.

There was silence for a few agonizing seconds. Sam stared, fork halfway to his mouth; Dean watched as Castiel tipped his head to glare down at his own food.

It was the glare that did it, that had Dean laughing so hard he choked. He threw his head back, ignoring the crack of his skull striking the plastic booth, barely even felt the burst of pain around his amusement. Sam's chuckles followed after a moment, and when Dean finally righted himself it was in time to see Castiel give a smile big enough to crinkle at the corners of his eyes.

Dean grinned like a loon and thought just maybe, they might be okay.

~

The ghost was appallingly easy to put down. He was haunting an office building where he'd committed suicide, but he'd only just begun to grow violent. There were no incidents when they dug up the grave and lit him up. They were back in the motel by midnight.

Sam still got up early the next morning, excited about his hike. Dean grumbled, yanking the covers over his head when Sam turned on the bedside lamp while he got ready. He listened to the rustle of Sam's clothes and the heavy thump of Castiel sliding off the couch to crawl into Sam's warm sheets, which only made Sam laugh softly.

There was another rustle. Dean peeked out from under his covers. Sam was tossing the blanket over Castiel's already fast-asleep form, smiling fondly as he tucked it in around him.

“Sam,” Dean whispered.

His brother hummed acknowledgment.

“I'm runnin’ out of patience.”

“Don't.” Sam straightened up, turned to give Dean a look somewhere between exasperated and amused. “That smile yesterday, when he spilled his food? That was progress. He's coming around.”

He left without another word. Strangely reassured, Dean drifted back to sleep.

When he woke, Castiel was gone.

~

He wasn't anywhere: no note, no sign of him in the lobby or by the vending machines. Dean even checked the back of the Impala. Nothing. When he tried Sam's cell, it went straight to voicemail—probably no signal on that damn trail.

Frantic and unable to think of anything else, Dean asked the front desk about the trail and how to get there. A bus came through every couple of hours, but it turned out it was only a few miles away. Dean drove through town without a thought to speed limits, hands clenched around the wheel and jaw tight.

He pulled up to the trail fighting off panic. A few hikers with their backpacks and water bottles were milling around the trail head, checking maps or just talking. Dean ran past them all with nothing more than a side-glance. It was already late morning, just after 10am. If he was with Sam, they could be at the end of the trail by now, or even coming back.

If he was with Sam, there was really no reason to worry. Dean ran anyway, unable to breathe around the certainty that something wasn’t right.

The trail started out fairly open, but Dean was quickly swallowed up in rock formations. There were wide tunnels, some stretching right over the trail itself. Massive boulders balanced precariously on top of considerably smaller ones, and in many places there were just sheer walls that gradually dipped back down into the trail. Sam was right, it was pretty damn awesome—but the thought was just a flash, hovering half formed under _Cas gotta find Cas._

The incline was steady. Dean continued to run. He kept his breathing deep and even, grateful for the adrenaline that let him keep up the pace even through some of the steeper inclines. He severely regretted not grabbing a water bottle out of the Impala before he left, but he didn't turn back, didn’t even stop to ask a few other hikers he passed for a drink from their own bottles.

He heard the shout of Cas's name, sounded like Sam's voice, seconds before he came around a corner and saw Sam standing at the bottom of a rock wall, staring straight up.

Dean's stomach dropped into his feet. He looked up anyway.

Halfway up the almost sheer face of the wall, barefoot and shirtless, was Castiel. He appeared to be hovering there, his forehead resting against the stone, toes just clinging to small ledges in the rock.

“Cas!”

Sam turned to him. His expression was calm, but his eyes were a little too wide. “He caught up to me right before the bus left,” Sam said, quiet and tense. “He went up half an hour ago. He hasn't moved in about ten minutes.”

“Did he say anything?” Dean panted.

Sam shook his head. “I tried to pull him back when he went for the wall. I think he almost hit me. I'm about ready to go up myself, but without any equipment there's not much I can do except help guide him back down.”

Dean barely heard the words. He'd taken another step forward, Castiel's name on his lips. Slowly, the angel tilted his head down. There was no fear in his eyes like Dean had half expected. Instead, he looked equal parts determined and exhausted, like he was on the verge of giving up but was too stubborn to let himself.

In a weird, shock-like moment of clarity, Dean understood.

“You can do it,” Dean said softly. When Castiel frowned, Dean stumbled back a few steps and yelled, “Go! You can make it!”

Sam frowned, but Castiel's face had set into a hard stare and Dean knew he was right. The angel bared his teeth just before he swung back around, one foot coming up and shifting into the next hold. He surged upwards, hand snapping out to grab at the wall. Dean clenched both fists when for a second Castiel's fingers met with nothing, let out his breath in a punch when the angel found a hold.

“Come on!” Dean shouted. “You're halfway there, Cas, come on!”

“Oh my god,” Sam breathed. Dean spared him a glance and saw comprehension dawning in his wide eyes.

Cas was closer now, no more than a few feet from the top, but he'd frozen again. He was panting hard, and Dean didn't have to clearly see him to know his arms were shaking. Probably his legs, too. Too close to human, too little grace to fly up there, to even heal the humanity seeping into his limbs that made him think he was weak. That made him think he had to do this.

Sam was shouting encouragement now and Dean could almost kiss him. He settled for a hand to Sam's shoulder, squeezing hard to ground himself as they watched Castiel start to lurch upwards again.

Dean held his breath for the last few feet, fingers digging in so deep Sam would probably have bruises, though he didn't say a word. His hand just curled over Dean's, neither of them looking away as Castiel heaved himself over the ledge and sprawled on his back, legs dangling over the edge.

Sam let out a whoop and whirled around to hug Dean, both of them laughing to the point of hysteria because it was so much better than breaking down.

“He just had to know he could make it,” Dean said as they stepped away from each other. “He's not weak.”

Sam just nodded. When they looked up, Castiel was on his feet, half turned away from them. He lifted a finger and pointed further up the trail.

Up a few yards and around a corner, the rock gradually sloped downward until it was easy for Castiel to leap the last few feet back to the trail. He winced when he landed, nodding gratefully to Sam when he brought the angel his shoes and shirt.

Dean let him put them on before he yanked him into a tight hug, one hand cupping the back of Castiel's head and his face buried in sweaty hair.

~

Though Castiel still didn't speak as they drove back to the motel room, he seemed lighter. He smiled more freely, didn't complain when Dean cautiously turned on his music. He kicked back on Dean's bed and flipped through channels until they went back to the diner for dinner. The angel got a burger this time, with tater tots. Dean stole half of them and made a face when Castiel mixed his ketchup and ranch together.

About halfway through dinner, Sam got the strangest smile on his face. It stuck there through the rest of their meal and almost all the way through a horrible horror movie on TV, which kinda made the movie even worse.

“What? What are you grinning at?” Dean finally barked. Sam only smiled wider and slipped into the bathroom to shower.

“Freak,” Dean muttered, shaking his head.

Leaning back against the headboard, Dean cast a glance at Castiel. He looked smaller in just his new blue t-shirt and jeans, feet bare and crossed at the ankle. His eyes were half-closed, slipping fully shut occasionally before he'd force them open again. Dean didn't think he was interested in the movie. Avoiding sleep, maybe.

“Nightmares?” Dean asked before he could think better of it.

Castiel rolled his head to the side. Both eyebrows went up in question.

“You keep waking yourself up,” Dean said. “You having nightmares?”

The angel shook his head. He slid sideways, pillowing his head on Dean's shoulder and letting his eyes finally slip closed.

Dean froze. He stared down at the mussed disaster of Castiel's dark hair, listened to his breathing even out and suppressed a shudder at the heavy warmth sinking deep into his skin. The sweat from Cas's climb had long since dried, but the smell of it still lingered, surprisingly clean.

“Okay,” Dean whispered finally, relaxing. He worked an arm free and gingerly laid it over Castiel's shoulders. A small, helpless smile flitted over his lips when Castiel burrowed in more deeply in his sleep, sighing in contentment.

“Okay,” Dean repeated, and brushed a feather-light kiss into Castiel's hair.

Sam didn't say a word when he came out of the shower. He just smiled some more and whispered goodnight. Dean murmured the words back to him, hoping his brother could hear his gratitude.

~

A week passed. Dean grew used to the quiet.

He talked sometimes, filling the silence with inane chatter that Castiel always accepted with a small smile. He asked once, again, if he was still part of the problem.

It was the second time Castiel kissed him, soft and chaste, eyes open the entire time. Dean let it happen, didn't respond but didn't pull away, either. Smiled afterward, carefully, until Castiel smiled back and Dean knew somehow, they were okay.

He wasn’t a _problem._ He was just… a want. Castiel wanted him.

The thought alone made him dizzy.

Three weeks passed. They watched TV in Sam's room, some silly movie called Bruce Almighty. Castiel scowled when God showed up and lurched up from the floor where he'd been leaning against Dean's legs. The brothers watched him storm out with twin looks of confusion before Dean understood.

“He never got to talk to Chuck,” he said, already up and heading for the door.

The angel was outside, sitting on the Impala's hood. His hands were clenched over his knees, his jaw tight and eyes narrow as he stared skyward. Dean sat beside him and laid a hand between his shoulder blades.

“Chuck’s an ass,” Dean offered. For more than the fact that he never even bothered to answer Castiel's prayers, to show up long enough during the Apocalypse to say “ _hey, sorry, can't help”._ He could have at least explained his decisions to Cas before he left with Amara. Could have _acknowledged_ him.

Castiel laughed silently and nodded. His eyes were bitter, but he leaned into Dean’s touch, accepted the comfort.

He slept in Dean's bed that night.

Dean curled around his back, one arm thrown over his waist as he watched the angel sleep. The role reversal might have been funny if not for the frown on Castiel's face, stubborn even in sleep.

It was gone in the morning, though Dean honestly couldn’t tell if Castiel really felt better or if he was faking it until he made it. Dean made him blueberry pancakes just in case it was the latter.

That was the third time Castiel kissed him.

Two months passed. Restless, the three hit the road. They took down three ghosts and a vampire nest. Castiel's silence didn't impede their effectiveness. They communicated thoroughly before initiating a plan, and after the nest Sam got them all walkie-talkies that clipped to their jeans. Cas would tap once for yes, two for no, three for a lack of understanding.

They stopped for the hell of it at a lake in Michigan. Found a quiet, secluded place and stripped down to nothing, shaking with the icy cold of the water despite the baking heat of summer. They swam until they were exhausted and starving, then stretched out in the sun to dry off and eat whatever snacks they had stored in the trunk.

Sam eventually fell asleep with an arm over his eyes and a towel thrown haphazardly over his body. Castiel watched with amusement as Dean snapped a photo on his phone, snickering at Sam's mussed hair.

When Dean twisted around to show the angel, Castiel was laughing without sound, eyes crinkled and smile wide.

Dean kissed him without thought. They lay together afterward, sleepy and warm in each other's arms. Dean thought the nudity should be awkward, but it wasn't. Castiel had seen him at his worst in Hell—Dean didn't think he could get any more exposed than that.

When Sam woke later, it was growing dark. He smiled when he saw Cas and Dean tangled up in each other, dead to the world, Castiel snoring softly and Dean grumbling into the angel's shoulder in his sleep. He slipped into his jeans quietly and packed up the remainder of the food and trash.

It took some work to get Cas and Dean into the Impala; neither of them were exactly light. He didn't bother trying to get them dressed. It was late enough that he could sneak them into a motel room without any issue. He hoped.

Dean never really woke up. The one moment Castiel did he stared at Dean, eyes wide. Sam watched him trail fingertips over Dean's cheek, slow and careful, and averted his eyes to give them privacy.

He'd been on the road for a few minutes when he felt a hand firmly grasp his shoulder. Castiel was smiling when he glanced in the rear view mirror. Sam smiled back.

“Never thought you two would happen quietly,” Sam murmured.

Castiel chuckled silently and shook his head. Agreeing, Sam thought.

The angel fell back asleep after that, sprawled over Dean's shoulder. It was even harder to get them into the motel.

~

Dean woke on a considerably softer surface than he'd fallen asleep on. There was a warm hand on his stomach, fingers tracing patterns into his skin. Dean grinned but didn't open his eyes.

“You groping me in my sleep?” He was aiming for accusing, but he was pretty sure he landed somewhere a lot closer to amused.

The fingers stopped for a second, then the hand flattened against his belly. Castiel nuzzled at Dean's temple, nose dragging up over his skin and into his hair. He huffed in Dean's ear, the most noise Dean had heard him make in quite a while.

“I miss your voice,” Dean confessed. Seemed safe behind his closed eyes. “But if you don't wanna talk yet... or, ever. It's okay.”

For a moment, Castiel didn't move. Then the hand on his stomach slid up to rest over his heart. A kiss was pressed into his hair. Dean tipped his head to the side and caught Castiel's mouth.

They were still naked, only covered by the blanket Sam must have thrown over them. It made it easy for Dean to slide a hand over Castiel's hip and tug until the angel was laid out on top of him, heavy and warm. He opened his eyes when Castiel pulled back and found him staring down, blue eyes wide with a question that didn't need words.

“Yes,” Dean said clearly, and Castiel smiled.

Dean had only done this with a man once, when he was seventeen and John had been away for at least a month. It was a fumbling, excitement-filled encounter in the back seat of the Impala. Now it was slow, the excitement a low, sustained simmer rather than an explosive burst. They rocked against each other until they were both hard and Castiel's cock slipped between his thighs, pressing right up against his balls. Dean moaned and clenched his legs together, trapping him there until the angel got the idea and began to thrust. He braced himself with a hand on either side of Dean's head, alternating between raining kisses over his lips and jaw and just staring down into Dean's eyes, his own wide and awed, mouth falling open around the softest cry when he came hot and wet between Dean's legs.

It wasn't enough, it _shouldn't_ have been enough, but it was. Dean tumbled over the edge after him with nothing more than the feel of Castiel's come against his skin and a few thrusts against the angel's stomach.

They fell back asleep, Castiel sprawled over him with a grin tucked into Dean's throat, until Sam pounded on the door and demanded they get up, “ _morons, it's after noon!”_

They lingered in town a few more days. Dean sucked Castiel off in the bathroom of a bar and grumbled about the ache in his jaw until the angel grinned and shut him up with a kiss, right there in front of Sam.

“Get a room,” Sam groaned, throwing a peanut at their heads. “That's _not_ the bathroom,” he added hastily.

Dean opened his mouth to reply, but all that came out was a surprised grunt when Castiel grabbed his hand and dragged him back to the motel to reciprocate.

They stayed out on the road for nearly a month before they finally ended up back in the bunker. It was only a little after 4pm when they pulled into the garage, but Sam immediately went down the hall to crash, and Dean and Cas followed a few minutes later. Dean had driven thirteen hours to get them back that day—couldn't even say why, exactly, he'd been so eager to get home. Maybe because it _was_ home. The time away had been nice, but it was just as nice actually getting to come back to something permanent.

Dean was settled in behind Castiel, one arm tossed over his waist, when he asked, “Are you happy?”

Castiel tipped his head back, smiled. He tapped a finger to his lips and spread his hands.

“I'm trying not to worry about it,” Dean muttered. He smiled helplessly when Castiel turned so he could press a kiss to his jaw. “If you're happy, I won't worry about it.”

Castiel nodded. Then he pointed to Dean, gaze solemn and smile fading to wait at the corners of his lips.

“Me?” Dean tipped forward to lean his forehead against Castiel's. He made sure their eyes were locked before he murmured, “Yeah. I'm happy, too.”

~

A year passed. Dean discovered that Castiel didn't need his voice to communicate, that in fact they were communicating better than they had in their entire relationship. He even managed to still fight with Dean, purely through facial expressions and harsh gestures—though they fought far less these days. Usually over one of them doing something reckless.

The sex afterward was always worth it. Though he still refused to speak, Castiel would moan when Dean bit the back of his neck, sigh when they leaned their foreheads together, cry out when Dean stroked them both to climax. They'd kiss when it was over, both sleepy and sated, a silent apology to each other.

When it was just the two of them, Dean stopped talking as much. It wasn't necessary, not when they could communicate nearly everything they needed to with an exchange of looks. Even Sam grew more quiet when Castiel was around.

One day, Sam came home with a book of sign language that he immediately handed to Castiel. The angel took it with a specific smile that meant 'thank you' and studied it for weeks, but used only one motion that Dean later looked up.

It meant 'I love you.'

Though he'd never been able to say the words, Dean found it easy to communicate it through movement. He memorized Castiel's expression when he signed it, watched his eyes widen and light up, watched the grin explode across his face before he was being dragged off into their now shared bedroom.

He signed it to Sam later that night, quickly, almost hoping he'd miss it. The big bastard just smiled and signed it right back without a word.

Somewhere near the two year mark, there was a period of time when Dean was certain he was going to screw this up, somehow. It seemed like he always did. But nothing new came to destroy the world, just regular hunts that they either took or passed on to other hunters. He and Castiel fought sometimes, but they always made up.

The two years passed, and Dean realized Castiel wasn't going anywhere. It stunned him. He made coffee that morning on autopilot, took it into the library and found himself unable to drink it, to even really move.

Sam found him like that hours later, staring into his cup.

“You okay?” Sam asked, sinking down beside him. He nudged a beer over to Dean and took the cup, sliding it down towards the end of the table.

“Yeah,” Dean murmured. Then he shook his head, snatched up the beer and took a long pull. “Yeah,” he repeated more clearly. “Just. Having a hard time believing everything is so...”

“Stable?” Sam offered. “I know. Sometimes I find myself trying to remember what horrible thing we're fighting now, and I get confused when it's maybe just another hunt.”

Dean chuckled. “I bet you never thought regular hunting would feel normal, huh?”

“Nope,” Sam agreed. He leaned back and grinned at his brother, clinking their bottles together. “But you know what? I'm okay with it.”

~

It had been more than three years since Castiel stopped talking when the angel came back to their current motel in Cripple Creek, Colorado with two plain silver rings.

Dean didn't say a word. He just set his beer down on the rickety little side table by the door, and held out his hand.

The angel's eyes widened briefly before a grin flickered over his lips, there and gone like it was too afraid to stick around. He slid one onto Dean's ring finger and the other onto his own. It was slightly loose, but Dean figured he could get it adjusted later.

“You know it's not official or anything, right?” Dean asked, even as he grinned down at the ring like a complete doof.

Castiel nodded. He pressed a hand over his own heart, then that same hand over Dean's, and smiled.

Dean smiled back. “Yeah,” he agreed. “That's enough for me, too.”

When Sam came back from the library—loaded down with papers and a few books so dusty that Dean wanted to sneeze just from looking at them—he didn't notice the rings at first. He made it through two beers and several articles before he saw them.

He was pissed that he “hadn't been invited.” Dean rolled his eyes and said it wasn't that big of a deal, while Castiel just silently chuckled. Sam dragged them out for drinks anyway.

They stayed until closing. Castiel got drunk on tequila while Dean stuck to whiskey. The alcohol did nothing to bring back Cas's voice, but it did make him even more space-invasive than usual. He hung off Dean's shoulders and nuzzled at his ears, breath warm against his skin. He was _there_ in ways he never had been before Lucifer, and the lack of speech made little difference. Dean was used to the quiet by now, anyway.

Sam got a separate room when they came back. Dean didn’t even protest, just clapped his brother on the shoulder and tossed him a grateful grin.

In the early morning hours, when the alcohol was starting to wear off, Dean laid back and let Castiel inside him for the first time. It burned more than he'd expected, the stretch making him gasp and clutch at Castiel's arms, but it was _good._

“Cas,” Dean groaned, let the angel’s name spill from his lips again and again to mingle with Castiel’s gasps and sighs of pleasure. He didn’t need Castiel to say his name back, not when he could see it in his wide eyes, feel it in the way Castiel buried his face in Dean’s throat and kissed it frantically as he came.

They curled around each other afterward, slept away most of the day. They rose only once, late enough that it was growing dark, to shower and eat before they fell back into bed.

When they woke the next time, Castiel pulled Dean between his legs, urging him on with a hand to his lower back. Dean couldn’t pick which he liked better; Cas being inside him, or Dean being inside Cas. When he told the angel afterward, he laughed quietly and just nodded. Dean was glad he felt the same way—it meant he’d never have to chose.

In the morning, Sam pounded on their door until they both tumbled out of bed. Castiel forgot to put his pants on before he answered the door—the spectacular shade of red Sam's face flushed made Dean howl with laughter.

“Shut up,” Sam grumbled, slapping a hand over his eyes while Castiel frowned at him. “It's a poltergeist, put your pants on so we can banish it. Please. For the sake of my sanity.”

Castiel tossed Dean a raised eyebrow and a tilted head. Then he shrugged and started pulling on his clothes, tapping Sam's shoulder when it was safe for him to look.

They headed home after it was over. Home. Dean still wasn't used to the word, even all these years later. Then again, he still wasn't used to Cas, either. Wasn't used to being able to reach over and slide a hand over the warmth of his thigh, or the soft smile Castiel gave him, or Sam stretched out in the backseat to give them time up front together.

Honestly, he kind of hoped he never got used to it.

~

Five years to the day after Chuck and Amara left the earth, Dean woke up with Castiel braced over him. His smile was wide, and he didn't stop smiling when he leaned down to kiss Dean good morning.

Then he did something that nearly brought Dean to tears, no matter how much he'd deny it later.

He opened his mouth, and said in a low, hoarse voice:

“Hello, Dean.”

~

END

 


End file.
